


home-going

by jasp



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Gen, feat. random shepherd and the entire concept of theoxenia, so much to do! so much to see!, so what's wrong with petting a few sheep?, zag's first time on the surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasp/pseuds/jasp
Summary: Everything on the surface had so much to it, sensations that couldn't exist in the dead stillness of the earth's core. Zag could pick something up off the ground, anything, and it would have density and color and texture and scent, not dulled and dusty and crumbling away from eons of going untouched by anything more alive than ashes.





	home-going

Zag was no stranger to pain, nor was he a stranger to its absence. In the Underworld, that was what there was: pain, and the absence of it, a lukewarm, insubstantial, dull numbness. That in itself was nothing to complain about, except in its unremarkable sameness. His father, he knew, loved the stability of monotony. He had no reason to be concerned any longer with what his father loved.

His first steps past the battlefield and the ruined temple entrance were halting, not only because he was injured, but because every step was a wash of newness: the crunch of dry plant life and the hiss of melting snow under his feet; the smell of smoke and of musty, wet things, traces of decay that themselves signaled life; the sounds of creatures moving in the distance, and the sounds of wings in the trees. The air stuck to his skin, and changed directions and strength seemingly as it pleased. And what he knew by now to be the moon shone piercingly bright overhead, concealing all these complex facets of existence in sword-edged blue and white.

Everything had so much to it, sensations that couldn't exist in the dead stillness of the earth's core. He could pick something up off the ground, anything, and it would have density and color and texture and scent, not dulled and dusty and crumbling away from eons of going untouched by anything more alive than ashes. He held fallen branches for their rough-soggy bark and the way they whistled through the air, and he picked up stones and things that had fallen from the crowns of the trees and carried them with him for a few steps before letting them fall again and pausing to watch the dent form in the snow. He scooped snow into his hands and watched it melt, and with icy fingertips he wiped blood from his skin where wounds had already closed themselves over. Every so often he spun as he walked to feel the wind, picking up speed, though in what direction he hardly knew - any progress now was more than he had ever made before. Every step brought him closer to his mother, no matter where she might be; every step brought him closer to where he belonged.

Even with the fire of battle far behind, the cold didn't hinder him. If anything, the way it poured into his lungs as he breathed was invigorating. It was different; it was fascinating. He tried to shape the clouds of steam that left him as he exhaled, but they curled away too quickly in a thin, multicolored haze. He had left the forest behind by then, and walked along exposed ground, the sea well below him to his right. He supposed, idly, that this was one of those great bodies of water his uncle always bragged of ruling. _Maybe it will be by the coast,_ he remembered reading, in his mother's hand, and he thought that perhaps to walk by the water a while would be far from the worst strategy. It was beautiful, a glimmering black-blue like nothing in any of the Underworld's four rivers, studded with small bits of white and set aglow by the moon. When she had left, she must have seen it too. Maybe she had followed it, as he was. It was as good a guess as any.

He didn't know how long he walked, except that every step came easier, and the sky began to get somehow even brighter, one of its far edges fading through gradually more delicate shades of blue that he had no name for. The hills to his left had softened into gentle waves of earth, and across those waves - a structure, too regular to be a hill or crest of rock. There was light seeping out of it, and animals clustered nearby under a makeshift shelter jutting from its side. He tried not to hope; he walked towards it anyways.

The animals, he found when he got closer, were soft, and noisy, and they bleated at him and stuck their heads through the fence to chew on the edges of his chiton, and he hardly had it in him to be mad because he was too busy stroking their densely curled, springy fur. It was in that state that the door was opened on him-

And he was face to face with a mortal, a short, brown man with a scruffy black beard and dark eyes turned down at the corners, whose expression shifted from concern, to confusion, to terror, to more politely restrained terror over a matter of moments. "Stranger," the man said carefully. His accent was unfamiliar, but not entirely foreign, either, and his words were easy enough to understand. "It is deathly cold, and some time yet to sunrise. Stay here a while, and warm yourself, for you must be weary."

"I..." Zag glanced down at his dirtied and bare feet, still visibly glowing despite the chill of the snow. "I'm not really all that cold, or tired, but thank you, sir, that's very kind." He laughed sheepishly, tugging his (conspicuously colorful, compared to the mortal's) chiton away from the animals who were now attempting to cluster closer to his warmth.

"I insist," the man said, bundling a cloak about himself as he stepped out, the crunch and squeak of the snow muffled under his cloth-wrapped footsteps. He stopped short of touching Zag, but held his cloak out nonetheless, winglike, in a gesture meant to shuffle him towards the open door. "It would honor my humble house if you would rest, and eat and drink your fill, of course."

"I'm- Really, I-... Alright," Zag finally conceded, his sense of good manners giving him little other option than to be bundled inside.

The room was small and square and clay-colored, the ceiling almost low enough that Zag's hair brushed against it. There was a simple bed of dried plants and cloth, and a long, sturdy branch, stripped of bark and smoothed from handling, leaned in the corner. Root-like things that were presumably edible hung from the rafters, and a number of pots and baskets were stacked against the walls below them. A fire crackled away behind a neat hearth; the smoke tried valiantly to rise through the hole in the ceiling, but much of it simply lurked just below.

"I have but little to share, but it is by the grace of the gods that you have come here, and by the grace of the gods that I share it. Sit," the man said, and gestured to a rug spread before the fire. As Zag sat, he realized with a bit of a lurch in his stomach that the rug felt very similar to the fur of the animals outside. He decided not to think about that too much.

Nothing he could say would dissuade the mortal's hospitality. He was offered the entire contents of a steaming, fire-darkened pot from the hearth, a sort of thick, slimy soup that smelled sharp and almost unpleasant, but tasted mild, and warmer than Zag would have thought possible. A full ceramic drinking bowl was also pressed into his hands, half water but enough wine still to feel nourishing, and he reflected that the timing was perfect, as something in the food had made him realize he was parched. The man asked no questions (which Zag appreciated, but didn't understand), and talked animatedly, as if he believed it his duty to provide not only warmth, food, and drink, but also entertainment. He spoke of a wife and children farther inland, and explained that he kept the sheep (_sheep_, Zag thought, fixing the name of the animals in his mind) here only part of the year, where the weather was somewhat milder and the grazing generally better, though this winter had been harsh so far. Zag nodded as if any of it made sense to him, because that was the polite thing to do, and found that, as he finished what had been given to him, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: sleepy.

His host, ever attentive, noticed the droop of Zag's body, and offered up the bed; his work would begin soon, and he had no more need for sleep. Surprising even himself a bit, Zag took the offer and, minding his feet, lay down and pulled the heavy blanket over himself. In the quiet, he was once again surrounded by the strange beauty of the surface - even just laying there, gentle sounds and smells crept by - but now they lulled him, soft reassurances that he had, for the time being, made it, and he was welcome.

* * *

_The shepherd Xanthias would return when the sun was high and the snow was softening in places, expecting to find his guest still resting; he would instead be greeted by neatly folded blankets, a few light scorch marks darkening the dirt floor, and a small pile of gold coins that was nonetheless more than he'd seen in his life. Despite the deep and persistent winter, his family ate well._

**Author's Note:**

> From a friend's request for some surface Zag shenanigans - he must have had a lot to take in his first time up there. Ongoing underworld renovations give him plenty more chances to see what there is to see!
> 
> Edit (9/29/20) - obviously this is no longer SUPER canon compliant given that the full ending of the game is out, so consider this a window into what Early Access life was like while we all waited for that 1.0 release. I hope this is still a fun read to anyone who finds it!


End file.
